


Burglary at Number One, Central Square, Whoville

by laughingacademy



Category: How the Grinch Stole Christmas - Dr. Seuss, due South
Genre: Christmas, Crossover, Gen, Humor, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-19
Updated: 2005-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingacademy/pseuds/laughingacademy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What I'm saying is, we're in <em>Whoville</em>, and it's almost dawn on Christmas day, and all the presents, the trees, stockings, wreaths, decorations, the food for the big feast, all of it is gone, right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burglary at Number One, Central Square, Whoville

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calathea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calathea/gifts).



> Author's notes: My apologies to Calathea, whose preference was for slash, but once the image of Fraser and Ray K in Whoville popped into my head, well, anything past G was out of the question (though I managed to sneak a little in with the last line).
> 
> It didn't occur to me until after I had mailed the story that there's a prefect epigraph in part II, chapter II of G. K. Chesterton's _Manalive_:  
> 
>
>> Why are children not afraid of Santa Claus, though he comes like a thief in the night? He is permitted secrecy, trespass, almost treachery — because there are more toys where he has been. What should we feel if it were less?

Detective Ray Kowalski had lost track of the number of burglaries he'd investigated over the years, but he'd never seen one as thorough as this. The walls were completely bare, aside from a few bent nails with wire and hooks strung between them, the only remnants of what had probably been an impressive decoration scheme. Even the log in the fireplace had been removed, leaving behind a dusty grate and cooling cinders.

"Fraser…"

"Just a second, Ray." In his best the-Royal-Canadian-Mounted-Police-is-here-to-help voice, Constable Benton Fraser asked, "Now then, Miss Cindy-Lou, can you please describe the person you saw last night?"

"I _told_ you, it was Santy Claus! I asked him why he was taking our tree, and he said that one of the lights was broken so he was taking it back to his workshop to fix it. Then he got me a glass of water and tucked me into bed and told me to go back to sleep like a good girl, and I did."

"I see. How did you know he was Santa Claus?"

Kowalski had to admit that little Cindy-Lou Who was awfully cute with her blond hair and her big blue eyes, even though she had antennae like everyone else in this freaky little town. Also, he wasn't sure she had feet under that nightgown. "He looked like Santy Claus!"

"Did he have a beard?"

For a moment, Cindy Lou looked doubtful. "No-o-o-o…" She brightened. "But he had a red suit, and a pointy red hat with a tassel, and a big bag, and he put the tree right up the chimney! So it had to be him."

"Ah…" Fraser rubbed his eyebrow.

"I like your hat."

"Thank you kindly."

Ray followed Diefenbaker into the kitchen, which had been ransacked as thoroughly as the other room. All of the cupboards and drawers had been emptied. He found a few, near-microscopic crumbs on a counter top. The wolf looked up at him and whined. Ray knelt and scratched behind Dief's ears. "I know, buddy. It makes me hungry just looking at it, too. C'mon, let's go talk to Fraser."

When Ray went back into the living room, Fraser was gravely taking notes while Cindy-Lou lisped, "— and his eyes were really big and yellow." Ray caught his eye and jerked his head at the doorway.

"Excuse me, miss, I'll be right back. Diefenbaker, please stay with Cindy-Lou."

Ray led Fraser to the vestibule. The sound of Cindy-Lou's parents telling their other children that of _course_ today was Christmas, and they'd better not forget to put on their scarves before they went outside for the sing-a-long, drifted from upstairs.

"It appears that Cindy-Lou is the only person to have seen the burglar. Unfortunately, since she's only two years old I'm not certain she'll make a convincing witness."

"Uh-huh. Just to make sure we're on the same page…the little guy who brought us here, he said this place is called Whoville, right?"

"He did."

"Located at the foot of Mount, uh, Crumpet."

"I believe it's pronounced 'Crumpit.'"

"Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe, and that's not the point. What I'm saying is, we're in _Whoville_, and it's almost dawn on Christmas day, and all the presents, the trees, stockings, wreaths, decorations, the food for the big feast, all of it is gone, right? Nothing left for you to lick."

"Yes."

Ray bobbed his head. "Okay. So…does this sound at all familiar to you?"

"It did occur to me that the scenario bears a striking resemblance to the children's story _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ by Dr. Seuss, AKA Theodore Geisel."

"Yes! Exactly! And this is greatness, because that means we don't have to do anything! Just relax, maybe hold hands and sing in the big circle, and then the Grinch'll come riding into town on his sleigh and give everything back. Hey, d'ya think they'll let us stick around for the party afterwards?"

"Ray, I'm afraid it may not be that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because Cindy-Lou's description of the culprit does not match the Grinch."

"She _didn't_ see a green hairy guy with big yellow eyes wearing a Santy — I mean, Santa — Claus suit?"

"No, that is precisely what she said. That's the problem."

"What problem?"

"Well —"

"Is there another mean green Christmas-hating sonovabitch that lives just outside of town?"

"The Grinch isn't green, Ray."

"What? Yes he is! Did you hit your head?"

"Ray!"

"Is there some Canadian tradition I don't know about that means you get your brains rattled every Christmas?"

"He isn't green, Ray!"

"He is too! Fraser, I watched that cartoon every year growing up, do not tell me that the Grinch isn't green!"

"Ah."

"'Ah?' What?"

"I must confess that I am unfamiliar with the animated version of the story."

Ray was struck dumb for several seconds. Finally, he managed to sputter, "How is that even possible? How does anyone grow up in North America — hell, in the English-speaking world — and never see _The Grinch_?"

Fraser shrugged helplessly.

"Okay. Okay. So, I'm guessing that in the book he looks different."

"I always had the impression that the Grinch was gray. And his eyes are definitely red."

"Red eyes. Right. Got it." There was another pause. "We're not even going to talk about how nuts it is that we're in a kid's story, are we?"

"Well, there doesn't seem to be much point, Ray."

"Constable! Detective!" chirped Cindy-Lou's mother. She and her husband were holding the little girl's hands and letting her swing back and forth like a bell, her feet (?) several inches off the ground. The other Who kids were lining up behind the trio, from tallest to shortest. Mrs. Who smiled at the visitors. "The morning song is about to begin. Won't you join us?"

Dief whuffled and nudged Fraser in the backs of his knees.

"I'm afraid I don't know the words…"

"Relax, Fraser, I got it covered. Watched every year, remember?"

They went outside. Crisp white snow squeaked underfoot. The sharp peaks of Mr. Crumpit shone against the bluest sky Ray had ever seen. He glanced at Fraser and saw that the Mountie's gaze was following the sleigh tracks that circled the square and led towards the hills.

"Look, Fraser, if he doesn't show we can follow the trail when the singing's done, yeah?"

Fraser nodded. "All right, Ray." He hesitated, then took Ray's hand.

They looked at each other, and suddenly Ray's chest felt tight, like his heart had just grown three sizes.


End file.
